So, having completed her task of putting the gun in absolute readiness for its first essay in the field, she returned the case to its corner and went up-stairs to bed.

CHAPTER XXVI.-TANGLES.

When Audrey and her mother found themselves alone, Lady Frances turned at once to her daughter.

"Audrey," she said, "I feel that I must confide in you."

"What about, mother?" asked Audrey.

"About Evelyn."

"Yes, mother?"

Audrey's face looked anxious and troubled; Lady Frances's scarcely less so.

"The child hates me," said Lady Frances. "What I have done to excite such a feeling is more than I can tell you; from the first I have done my utmost to be kind to her."

"It is difficult to know how best to be kind to Evelyn," said Audrey in a thoughtful voice.

"What do you mean, my dear?"

"I mean, mother, that she is something of a little savage. She has never been brought up with our ideas. Do you think, mother-I scarcely like to say it to one whom I honor and love and respect as I do you-but do you think you understand her?"

"No, I do not," said Lady Frances. "I have never understood her from the first. Your father seems to manage her better."

"Ah, yes," said Audrey; "but then, she belongs to him."

Lady Frances looked annoyed.

"She belongs to us all," she remarked. "She is your first cousin, and my niece, of course, by marriage. Her father was a very dear fellow; how such a daughter could have been given to him is one of those puzzles which will never be unraveled. But now, dear, we must descend from generalities to facts. Something very grave and terrible has occurred.

Read did right when she told me about Evelyn's secret visits to Jasper at the stile. You know how from the very first I have distrusted and disliked that woman. You must not suppose, Audrey, that I felt no pain when I turned the woman away after the letter which Evelyn's mother had written to me; but there are times when it is wrong to yield, and I felt that such was the case."

"I knew, my darling mother, that you must have acted from the best of motives," said Audrey.

"I did, my dearest child; I did. Well, Evelyn has managed to meet this woman, and instead of being removed from her influence, is under it to a remarkable and dangerous degree-for the woman, of course, thinks herself wronged, and Evelyn agrees with her. Now, the fact is this, Audrey: I happen to know about that very disagreeable occurrence which took place at Chepstow House."

"What, mother-what?" cried Audrey. "You speak as if you knew something special."

"I do, Audrey."

"But what, mother?"

Audrey's face turned red; her eyes shone. She went close to her mother, knelt by her, and took her hand.

"Who has spoken to you about it?" she asked.

"Miss Henderson."

"Oh mother! and what did she say?"

"My darling, I am afraid you will be terribly grieved; I can scarcely tell you how upset I am. Audrey, the strongest, the very strongest, circ.u.mstantial evidence points to Evelyn as the guilty person."

"Oh mother! Evelyn! But why? Oh, surely, surely whoever accuses poor Evelyn is mistaken!"

"I agreed with you, Audrey; I felt just as indignant as you do when first I heard what Miss Henderson told me; but the more I see of Evelyn the more sure I am that she would be capable of this action, that if the opportunity came she would do this cruel and unjustifiable wrong, and after having done it the unhappy child would try to conceal it."

"But, mother darling, what motive could she have?"

"Well, dear, let me tell you. Miss Henderson seems to be well aware of the entire story. On the first day when Evelyn went to school she was asked during cla.s.s to read over the reign of Edward I. in the history of England. Evelyn, in her usual pert way which we all know so well, declared that she knew the reign, and while the other girls in her form were busy with their lessons she amused herself looking about her. As it was the first day, Miss Thompson took no notice; but when the girls went into the playground for recess she called Evelyn to her and questioned her with regard to the history. Evelyn's wicked lie was immediately manifest, for she did not know a single word about the reign. Miss Thompson was naturally angry, and desired her to stay in the schoolroom and learn the reign while the other girls were at play. Evelyn was angry, but could not resist. About six o'clock that evening Miss Thompson came into the schoolroom, found Ruskin's _Sesame and Lilies_, which she had left there that morning, and took it away with her. She was preparing a lecture out of the book, and did not open it at once.

When she did so she perceived, to her horror, that some pages had been torn out. You know, my dear, what followed. You know what a strained and unhappy condition the school is now in."

"Oh yes, mother-yes, I know all that; the only part that is new to me is that Evelyn was kept indoors to learn her history."

"Yes, dear, and that supplies the motive; not to one like you, my Audrey, but to such a perverted, such an unhappy and ignorant child as poor Evelyn, one who has never learnt self-control, one whose pa.s.sions are ever in the ascendency."

"Oh, poor Evelyn, poor Evelyn!" said Audrey. "But still, mother-still--Oh, I am sure she never did it! She has denied it, mother; whatever she is, she is not a coward. She might have done it in a fit of rage; but if she did she would confess. Why should she wreak her anger on Miss Henderson? Oh, mother darling, there is nothing proved against her!"

"Wait, Audrey; I have not finished my story. Two days pa.s.sed before Miss Thompson needed to open the history-book which Evelyn had been using; when she did, she found, lying in the pages which commenced the reign of Edward I., some sc.r.a.ps of torn paper, all too evidently torn out of _Sesame and Lilies_.

"Mother!"

"It is true, Audrey."

"Who told you this?"

"Miss Henderson."

"Does Miss Henderson believe that Evelyn is guilty?"

"Yes; and so do I."

"Mother, mother, what will happen?"

"Who knows? But Miss Henderson is determined-and, yes, my dear, I must say I agree with her-she is determined to expose Evelyn; she said she would give her a week in which to repent."

"And that week will be up the day after to-morrow," said Audrey.

"Yes, Audrey-yes; there is only to-morrow left."

"Oh mother, how can I bear it?"

"My poor child, it will be dreadful for you."

"Oh mother, why did she come here? I could almost hate her! And yet-no, I do not hate her-no, I do not; I pity her."